Ah, hell, he’s replaced Mavis with his girl.A sexy-as-hell woman he’d been keeping under tight wraps. As Dakota flushed every late-night fantasy down the commode, his twitching dick stood down. He’d never screw another man’s woman, especially not a member of his crew.
Providence handed Dakota his drink. “Stryker,” she began, but her gaze stayed pinned on Dakota. “I’ve been doing clean-up this week. Your friends are cutting some serious corners by skipping the membership fees.” She grabbed her beat-up handbag from the credenza behind the desk and popped two squares of gum into her mouth.
“When did you become a gum chewer?” Stryker asked.
“When I quit smoking.”
After pushing out of the chair, Dakota checked his watch. Four minutes to spare. And he was confident his guys had placed wages on whether he’d get there in time. “I’ve gotta bolt. Can you handle this and join us?”
Stryker nodded, then turned back to Providence. “The men in Travesty get a pass. No questions asked.”
“Thanks, man.” Dakota turned back at the door. “Miss Rhode Island, it’s been a pleasure.”
She flipped him off and folded her arms.Dammit, she needs to stop doing that.
“You might get to play for free, but I’m keeping an eye on you,” she said.
I like the sound of that.“Yes, ma’am.”
“Providence, this is the man who saved my life,” Stryker said.
“You would have done the same for me,” Dakota replied, but couldn’t take his eyes off Providence. Why did his best friend’s girl have to be so freakin’ hot?
He’d never sleep with her. His loyalty toward these men went blood deep. And Stryker was one crazy motherfucker. He’d kill Dakota in a heartbeat.
The new gatekeeper was off limits.Stay the hell away from her.
Suddenly, Miss Rhode Island had become absolutely irresistible.
3
The Kill
With fourteen seconds left, Dakota high-tailed it to the Travesty room. All four men were staring at their watches. He chuffed out a laugh. “Well?”
“Two seconds left.” Marcus collected the pile of money in the middle of the poker table. “I had faith you’d make it back in time.”
“You suck,” Quincy grumbled.
“Is the room still secure?” Dakota asked as he joined them at the table.
Rys glanced up from his laptop. “Yes.”
“Prep us,” Dakota said to Quincy.
By day, Quincy ran a D.C. firm that helped underprivileged youth get accepted to college. When he joined Dakota on a hit, he scouted locations, and met their targets, when feasible. “Last week, I took a meeting with Ralph Meyers—AKA Mr. Ralphy—in the back room of a strip club in Baltimore,” Quincy said. “I offered him ten grand to complete a hit. Five tonight, and another five after. I instructed him to come alone. He won’t.”
“Why not?” Dakota asked.
“His two bodyguards flanked him during the meeting and followed him out after.”
“Run down tonight’s time frame,” Dakota said.
“We arrive in Baltimore by midnight,” Quincy continued. “Fifteen to get inside the warehouse and into position. Meyers is expected before one.”
Dakota glanced at his watch. “Where’s the hit?”
“An abandoned warehouse, southeast side of Baltimore,” Quincy said. “I instructed him to enter through the back of the building. Rys will run down Meyers’s priors.”
